The White Cat
by Stephanie3
Summary: Duo observes the other pilots as they sit around a campfire and share stories.


  


## The White Cat

  
_**Stephanie**_  
February 2001 

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> He prayeth best, who loveth best  
All things both great and small;  
For the dear God who loveth us,  
He made and loveth all.
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> **--Samuel Taylor Coleridge,_ "Rime of the Ancient Mariner"_**
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> If there was one of the Gundam pilots I didn't really like, it was Trowa Barton. I didn't hate him or wish him dead or anything, I just didn't like him. It was probably because he didn't seem to give a rat's ass about anything. He was as frigid and reserved as they came. Not in the same way that Wufei and Heero were. . . You always knew what was on their minds, even if they didn't say much. Wufei scowled and ranted and raved, and in the end I thought he was cute as a button. Heero was quieter, but he had a way of telling you what he meant by a well placed action and maybe a word or two to go with it. But Trowa. . . well, if Wufei had a stick up his ass, then Trowa had an icicle. He didn't rant or rave, he didn't do much beyond his duty. It was impossible to get inside that head and guess what he was thinking. It spooked me to be in the same room with him alone at times. 
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> So the night Trowa offered up a story to us, is a night that sticks clear in my memory. 
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> We were all sitting together by a fire, trying to keep warm and stay awake, and Quatre and I were trying to entertain everyone with stories and memories of our youth. Quatre, bless his soul, had just told the story of the first time he had woken up on Earth and found his Gundam covered in flamingos. Quatre is so adorable, even now, years later. He still emits an air of innocence and sweetness. He was so taken with those birds because he had never seen anything like it on his colony. Just listening to him talk, you could see how in love with the Earth he was. His eyes would light up like a kid finding a pony next to the tree on Christmas morning. It was heartbreaking whenever I thought of him having to fight. 
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> Wufei was smiling as Quatre spoke. Quatre always seemed to draw a smile from Wufei. If I didn't know how flamingly asexual Wufei was, I would have guessed he had a thing for Q. Anyway, I ruined it all for him. I began a story of how I cleverly picked the pocket of an Alliance officer. That didn't go over too well with Wufei, who immediately started spouting off about honor and dignity. I wanted to hug him. I don't know what it was about Wufei's huffing and puffing that made me want to squeeze the stuffing out of him and pat him on the head, but I did. No matter how much he insulted me and accused me of having no honor. I think maybe it was his way of showing affection. 
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> "Stealing is _**never**_ right! You dishonor yourself and your family!" Wufei huffed. And he did, he huffed, I swear to God. He would have broken my neck if I tried to hug him though. 
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> "Oh relax, Wufei. A lot of hungry kids got to eat!" I swiftly countered. 
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> "You should stop now," Heero said. He was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed trying to seem all indifferent. He directed that comment toward me. You could tell by the way he didn't bother to look my way. He was right, of course. If I argued it, the night would spiral down into a debate on honor, justice and ethics. Well, more like a lecture. I'm not sure how much any of us would get a chance to debate with Wufei on a rant. Not even Heero could ignore that all night. The more demented side of me imagined Heero gnawing off his own leg rather than listen to Wufei wax poetic on justice. I wouldn't put it past him. Though the more pragmatic Trowa would have just shot Wufei. See what I mean? There was just no drama to this guy. 
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> "Well then fine," I said. I could be cool and let things go. "Wufei, why don't you tell us a story then?" 
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> Wufei looked at me for a moment and seemed to consider it. Or maybe he was actually thinking how to string together the next set of words in his witty repartee. 
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> "No." 
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> "Oh, come on, Wufei! Just a story! It doesn't even have to be good, Quatre and I can fake it." Well, that did it. 
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> "I am _**not**_ entertaining you!" He gave me a flip of his head and snorted. "I'm sure you can find some . . . other way. . . To keep yourself occupied." 
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> "Well as a matter of fact, I can keep myself entertained for hours just by--" I was cut off before I could finish. 
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> "Um. . . maybe Heero would like to tell a story," Quatre spoke up. Poor Q. Wise enough to know to change the subject, but not quite up on how to actually change it. Heero looked over to him though. The Gods pay attention to Quatre. I don't blame them, I do too. 
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> "I don't know any," Heero simply replied to him. Still, the fact that he bothered to say anything at all, other than his normal grunt, spoke volumes. 
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> "You don't know any what?" The soft voice came from behind, nearly scaring the crap out of me. It was Trowa carrying a pile of wood. He was so damn quiet most of the time, he could walk through a pile of old leaves with bells tied to his shoes and you'd never hear him coming. I suppose it's some sort of some cosmic equilibrium that he ended up piloting the colossal noise maker called HeavyArms. 
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> "Stories," Quatre spoke up. "We were trading stories with each other. Do you know any, Trowa?" I almost laughed. Quatre always tried so hard. 
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> But Trowa seemed to consider this for a moment. They all seemed to consider whatever Quatre said, even the reticent Trowa. It's no wonder Quatre was able pull us all together towards the end of the war. 
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> "Maybe," Trowa said. He knelt down before the fire and wedged a few of the sticks he had gathered into it. 
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> "Oh, would you tell it?" Quatre's eyes brightened. I was too much in shock to speak. It was one thing to get Trowa to acknowledge your existence, it was quite another to pull anything substantial from his mouth, let alone a whole friggin story! Wufei and Heero were staring at him too. 
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> "Alright." 
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> Alright, he said. Like he sat around chewing the fat all the time about whatever crossed his mind. I wouldn't have been more surprised if he started sprinkling fairy dust over us. Maybe he had something for Quatre too. I'll admit that I did. Christ, I bet the angels weep when Q get's a paper cut and the whole nine choirs join together in song when he makes love. 
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> Trowa sat back, pulling his knees up and dangling his hands between them as he poked the fire with one of the long sticks he had gathered. If there was a single word to describe how Trowa looked that night, with the glow of the fire accentuating how his long lean frame rested with such a casual grace on the forest floor, I would say it was "elegance". Most other nights he was just The Frigid Ice Warrior. But not tonight. 
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> "I was perhaps eight or nine," he began. "When this small white cat wondered into the mercenary camp where I lived." He looked up from his stare into the fire and saw that all eight eyes were gazing at him. He must have known his normally silent voice was having quite an effect on all of us, as I was sure I saw a thin smile appear on his lips. "It was a small creature," he continued. "Scrawny and covered in mud from the frequent rains we had been getting. Most of us looked the same. The Alliance had succeeded in cutting off supplies to the village that had hired us. There was little food to go around and our makeshift tents were all we had for shelter." 
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> I hadn't expected to hear he lived in a camp with a bunch of mercs when he was a kid. He just went on talking with no further elaboration on how he ended up with them, like we knew all about it since birth or something. I would have expected Mr. "Green Tank Top and Spandex" Yuy to say something like this. That wouldn't surprise anyone. But Trowa? It didn't fit his image. Sure he only wore plain clothing and all, but it was plain in a classical sense. Dark green turtleneck, jeans and a veil of hair that neatly draped over half his face, he wore it all well. And he carried himself with such grace, I swear the guy walked on air. All the mercenaries and regular army types I ever saw were foul-mouthed brutes with little fashion sense. Trowa was the equal opposite. He may be a bit on the thin waifish side, but I couldn't see him dressed in fatigues and covered in mud. 
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> "Why didn't your unit pick up and leave the village?" Heero asked, like finding out Trowa was a mercenary wasn't phasing him a bit. Or maybe he already knew. They spent quite some time together and Trowa seemed to get along well with Heero. Sometimes you could see them talking quietly together in a dark corner when they thought no one was looking. I always assumed they were discussing a mission, but who knows. Maybe something more was going on with them. I wasn't about to ask The Perfect Soldier and The Silencer. If there was something going on though, they were pretty discrete. So much so that even now since we've shacked up, Heero doesn't discuss it. He doesn't talk of Trowa at all. Maybe _**that's**_ the greatest hint. "It's not like mercenaries to stick around if they are not going to get paid for their efforts," Heero continued. 
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> "We had already been paid," Trowa spoke quickly and clipped. His eyes gave Heero a cursory glance, as if to tell him, 'Don't interrupt my story again.' "A unit can't move on until they've completed the job they were hired for, or no one will hire them afterwards." He waited for Heero to give his nod before going further. Personally, I didn't care about the stupid mercs and why they stayed, I wanted to know how Trowa knew the cat was white if it was covered in mud. 
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> "The cat crept into the camp like a rat climbing out of a sewer grate," Trowa said, carrying on with his story. "I was the first to see it, otherwise it would have been dead already." 
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> Quatre didn't say anything, but his eyes widened and Trowa must have caught it. "They carry disease and lice," he quickly explained. "Or at least that's what most of the mercenaries thought. I guess there is truth to it." He looked back down into the fire and prodded a log with his stick. "I was out in the rain, trying to fix the generator for my captain's tent when I saw the cat. I was about to kill it with a brick lying nearby when--" 
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> "Oh _**that's**_ a _**great**_ story!" I interrupted. A story on killing a cat, what a morale booster! Trowa glared at me, and I held up my hands to block his reproach. "Sorry. Go on Trowa, I'm sure it has a great moral, or something." Trowa returned his attention to the fire and ignored my comment. 
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> "The cat looked up at me and I froze with the brick still in my hand raised to strike the creature. It was the first time I had looked into the eyes of something I was suppose to kill. Perhaps the cat knew that it had stunned me, as it didn't try to run away when I hesitated. It just continued to stare up at me as though it had me wrapped into it's spell. I set the brick down and kneeled on both knees in the mud. I had never seen a cat, or any other animal, that was so relaxed around a human before. The war made even the dogs nervous around us. But not this cat. . ." Trowa stopped for a moment and stared deep into the fire as though he could divine an image of the cat from it. There was something in his eyes that sparked. . . _**emotion**_, I think. It was as though that cat still had him in a spell, and somehow it managed to bring him to life. 
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> "Maybe it had rabies," Wufei offered after Trowa's silence had passed for some time. I guess it was Wufei's turn to ruin the moment, but Trowa didn't seem to hear him at first, he just kept staring into that fire like he could see the whole fate of the world going on in there and couldn't be bothered with the rest of us at the moment. 
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> "That could be," Heero agreed. "Stray cats don't usually walk up to people." It seemed like a sound idea to me as well. Trowa didn't think so though, he finally looked back up and turned to Heero. 
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> "No," Trowa corrected him, sounding almost irritated. "It didn't have rabies." And he left it at that. We all must have silently decided not to interrupt him again, because no one dared. I _**know**_ Wufei was dying to, you could see the little vein pulsing on his head. But Christ, if Trowa was going to get pissy with _**Heero**_, imagine if any of the rest of us would disturb him. Well, maybe Quatre would have faired better, but he was wise enough to just speak in term of making his eyes impossibly larger. 
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> "I looked around the compound to see if anyone else had seen me or the cat," he went on. "And when I was sure I was alone, I bundled it up in my coat and took it to my small tent. Once inside, I placed it in a bucket and began to clean the cat off with a some rags. I could feel the vibrations of her purring beneath my hands. She didn't fight me at all," he mused. "She seemed very content, as though I was doing nothing more than petting her." He reached over to his pile of sticks and tossed a few more into the fire, causing a brief surge in the flames before they settled back down. He cast the stick he was using to poke at the fire earlier into the flames with the rest of them and then sat back, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I left my bowl out in the rain to collect water, while I continued to wipe the mud off of her. When I loosened what I could of the mud, I reached for the bowl out side and poured the water over her, revealing a much lighter color of fur. I repeated this action a few times, adding in some soap, until all the mud was cleaned from her fur. I was startled to see she was completely white. Multicolored cats could be found all over, and I had seen black cats before, but this was the first time I had ever seen a pure white cat. It must have lost it's home when the Alliance attacked one of the villages nearby." 
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> It was a strange, yet interesting shift that he now referred to the animal as "she" and "her," rather than "the cat" or "it." I'm not sure he even realized it, but as soon as he brought that cat into his tent, he began to speak of it as thought it were a treasured pet, though he never gave it a name - or at least he didn't tell us if he did. His emphasis on the pureness of the cat's fur also caught my attention. It was as though he couldn't believe something could possibly exist and be _**that**_ pristine. Of course now that he's met Quatre, he knows better. 
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> "I dried her off with one of my T-shirts and wrapped her in it to keep her warm," he said, and I couldn't help but smile at the though of him taking such care of that cat. He must have some inborn instinct to care for wild battered creatures. After all, he looked after Heero for a whole month back when H nearly bit The Big One. 
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> "I took some of my rations and gave her a portion," he went on. "And then went back out to finish fixing the generator I had started on earlier. I guess with the rains as bad as they were, no one expected me to complete my work in a timely manner. If they noticed I was gone, or that it took so long, they never said anything." 
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> That statement made me as sad as it did to think of Quatre fighting. Who would send a little eight year old kid out in a torrential down pour to fix a generator? People really suck sometimes. And Trowa, well he talked like it was normal and expected of all little kids. I was starting to understand how he could get so pissy when someone screwed up or neglected their duty. I guess he figured everyone was fully trained in mechanics by they time they learned to walk. 
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> "When I had finished and returned back to my tent, I was as drenched and covered in as much grease and mud as that cat was when I found her." He had a distant look in his eye, and I wondered if Trowa even remembered he was talking to us. "She was still there, curled up and wrapped in the shirt, and completely dry now. She was. . ." he stopped and looked up into the stars, as though they could provide him with the right word. "Radiant. It was hard to believe she was the same cat, or like any of the feral cats the roamed the compound. Of course she was," he recanted. "She was just an ordinary house cat that just happened to be all white." I almost wanted to smack Trowa for bursting the magic of the moment. I guess with the way he set up the story, I was almost expecting him to kiss the cat and turn it into a fairy princess. But I forgave him that for what he said next. 
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> "Later, in my travel's through Europe, I would see white Persian and Himalayan cats, which when compared to mine, were exotic and resplendent," he paused for a moment then smiled in that minimalist Mona Lisa way of his. "But to my young mind, the cat that slept curled up in my shirt may as well have been a white lion. That's how I remember her." I think I feel in love with him for that line. I looked at Quatre and Wufei and saw that they were smiling as well. Heero was staring at Trowa, but that was as good as a smile by my standards. 
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> It wasn't so much his story that kept us wrapped, as it was the manner in which he told it. Here he was, an ex-mercenary commando type turned freedom fighting Gundam pilot, and he's telling us a story of how he once took care of a raggedy old cat he found one rainy day. Oh don't get me wrong, I could understand how the animal meant so much to him, but with all the excitement in his life, it was ironic that the story he chose to tell us seemed so mundane in comparison. And yet to him, it was such a singular experience. 
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> "I went to sleep for the night," he said. "And when I woke up she was gone. I didn't expect her to be there and I would have had to get rid of her if she was. But she was gone," he continued on, not seeming too upset by her disappearance. "The rain had stopped and the sun was finally shining. When I looked outside at the soggy ground, there weren't even paw prints left of her to suggest which direction she went." 
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> "So that's _**it**_?" I blurted out. "You never saw her again?" I braced for the impact if his ire at interrupting him yet again, but I didn't care! It bothered me that he never got to see that cat again. After he took such good care of it and it brought a smile to his face and all. . . It just didn't seem _**fair**_ to have the cat taken away so soon! 
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> But he didn't get mad, in fact his face seemed rather serene. "No, I never saw her again," he said. "But the next night we were hit by another storm, the largest in a series of them. With all the rains we had had in the past two weeks, the ground was already saturated to capacity and the land began to flood. In addition to that, the Alliance sabotaged the dam at the reservoir in an attempt to flood us out. We had to pack up the camp and move quickly before the water and mud swept us away. 
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> "In the shuffle of the evacuation, it was easy for me to get lost in the chaos. The little tent that I lived in was trampled into the mud, along with my few belongings, not that I had much to mourn. It freed me, in a sense, to just look out for myself. 
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> "Some of the other mercenaries got into their mobile suits, and attempted to clear a path for our escape. But the weight of the suits merely helped them to sink into the ground, causing it to become more unstable. Someone in one of the suits began firing. I guess they were trying to make a clear path for us that way, but they underestimated the instability of the earth beneath us. When the blast hit the saturated ground, it spawned a mudslide that buried everything in it's path. There was nowhere to move to get out of the way, and it was too fast to out run. I was caught up in the rush of mud and buried beneath it." 
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> By now Quatre's eyes looked liked they were going to start bleeding if they stretched any wider. But still he kept quiet. Wufei stared at Trowa intently, while his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, anxious to hear how Trowa got out of the ordeal. We were all wondering that, no doubt. Only Heero remained calm and as he had been the entire time, still leaning with his back up against the tree and his arms crossed, though his gaze would not leave Trowa. I guess since Trowa was sitting with us as he told the story, Heero didn't feel he had to be anxious. But Heero's never been altogether human. 
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> He didn't get angry with me the last time, so I decided to tempt fate again. "How uh. . . how didya get out of that, Trow?" 
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> "I thought for certain I was dead, but then someone dug me out," he simply stated. We all looked at him as he remained silent for a few more moments. 
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> "Well. . . who?" I asked again, trying to nudge him before his thoughts slipped back into the confines of that mysterious mind of his. 
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> "I don't know," he said. "I don't remember much of it, only that the man was dressed all in white." 
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> All of our eyes bugged out when he said that. Well, Heero just raised an eyebrow, but if you can elicit a response like that from Heero, you've probably just succeeded in freaking him out. Trowa, who spoke more in one sitting that night than he did in the entire year we knew him, had just gave testament that he was saved by an angel. Or at least that some cosmic force interceded on his behalf because he was kind to some animal. He didn't actually say it, but what other conclusion would you draw from that story? And what were we going to do, accuse him of lying? But as unreal as it sounded, I believed him. It seemed right, and I wanted it to be true. 
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> We waited for further explanation from him, but we were not going to get it. Trowa rose from his position on the ground, straightening his shirt as he did so. "Good night," he said. And that was the last of the story. 
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> I think of him now whenever it's raining. I think of him whenever I have to walk through the mud. The mud especially reminds me of Trowa, and it saddens me that I need such reminders. After the Eve wars, he disappeared from us. Not even his friend Catherine, whom he called "sister" could even tell us where he went. Trowa just vanished, like his little white cat, not even leaving a set of tracks to tell us which direction he went. 
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> ~end~ 

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